Thirteen Point Buck
by A Writer With Mixed Interests
Summary: "...then I hear him start whining. 'I can't do it. I can't shoot it, Uncle Pete. Please don't make me shoot it!" What exactly happened on the day Pete took Nick hunting, all those years ago? This short story will explain it all. *Cover image made by Assassin's Creed Master*


**Thirteen Point Buck**

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><p><strong>Hey guys. This was a small idea I thought of when I woke up this morning (weird, I know), and I thought it might make an interesting short story, so I figured I might as well write it before I forget. :)<strong>

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and its characters belongs to Telltale Games.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>"Rise and shine, boy," Peter Joseph Randall called as he stepped into his eleven-year-old nephew's small bedroom one early spring morning. He turned on the light. "Time to get up."<p>

"It's Saturday," his nephew, Nick, groaned pathetically, placing his pillow over his head.

"Don't you know what today is?" Pete questioned, frowning and crossing his arms.

"I just told you, Uncle Pete," Nick replied smartly.

"We're going huntin' today, don't tell me you've forgotten."

Nick let out a long whine and removed his head from the pillow. He _had_ forgotten, unfortunately for him. He looked over at the clock: it was only 6:00 in the morning. Not a great time to look at on a Saturday morning, especially when you stayed up late reading comic books the night before.

"It's too damn early!" Nick complained.

"We gotta be out early anyway," his uncle told him. "And you watch your mouth. Now get up, your mom has breakfast waiting." And with that, he left the room, leaving Nick to get himself ready.

Nick let out another small groan and reluctantly got out of bed, remembering to make it so that he didn't get a "lecture" from his father. He had only agreed to go on this stupid hunting trip for two reasons: One, because his father was coming home from a supposed "business trip" today and he didn't want to be around him, and two, his best friend, Luke, was sick with the flu, canceling their original plan to go to the arcade.

_This is stupid. Why can't he go hunting by himself? He's done it before!_ Nick thought to himself as he got dressed in the camouflage outfit that Pete had bought him recently. He wasn't always so tall; he wouldn't get his growth spurt for another few or so years, hence the outfit being a bit large on his scrawny frame.

Nick slowly walked down the stairs, his brown hunting boots making quite the noise as he walked. He walked into the kitchen and got a whiff of his mother's homemade pancakes, his favorite. He had to admit, his mom was quite the cook.

"Are you looking forward to today, honey?" Nick's mother, Helen, inquired as she set a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of her son.

Nick shrugged, a glum expression on his face. "I guess." _Better than seeing Dad,_ he thought as he reached for the syrup.

"Don't worry about a thing, Helen, it'll be fine," Pete reassured his younger sister, taking a sip of black coffee.

"I'm sure it will," Helen agreed with a small nod. If she had to be honest, she trusted Pete with her son much more than she trusted her irresponsible husband. It was probably why Pete decided to help raise him.

Breakfast was eaten quicker than Nick liked (due to Pete prodding him repeatedly to hurry up), and after cleaning up the table, it was time to go. Nick waited for Pete to come up from the basement with the rifles, and they were on their way with a warning from Helen to be careful.

Nick placed his elbow on the windowsill of the truck and rested his head on his arm. It had only been ten minutes into the journey, and he was bored. "Are we there yet?"

"We've still got an hour to go, son," Pete replied, his eyes locked firmly on the road.

"Can't we at least listen to the radio?" Nick asked, noticing the dead silence of the car.

"Radio's broken; I gotta get it fixed."

_Damn it._

After what was probably the longest hour of Nick's life, the two finally made it deep into the woods. It was nearly eight in the morning now, and Nick thought that it should have been against the law to be out so early on the weekend. Pete took the two rifles out from the back of the truck, handing the smaller one over to his nervous nephew, who reluctantly took it into his small hands.

"Now remember, it's just a thing, and it ain't gonna hurt you as long as you keep your finger off the trigger," Pete advised. "You got that?"

"I got it, Uncle Pete," Nick nodded. He was going to need to listen to his uncle carefully if he wanted to avoid either one of them getting hurt somehow.

Pete smiled a bit in satisfaction and started to lead the eleven-year-old away from the truck, the only communication towards the outside world at that moment. Nick hated the woods already; there was lots of walking and bugs involved. How did his uncle ever survive this?

"I think I may have found us a spot," Pete finally said after what seemed like hours (though in reality it was probably about twenty minutes). He beckoned Nick over with his finger, and the boy ran to where he was standing.

"Why are we even doing this, Uncle Pete? This is so pointless!" Nick whined, crossing his arms.

"Would you keep quiet? You'll scare 'em away," Pete reprimanded, making Nick roll his eyes.

The two of them walked over to the aforementioned spot and crouched down. Pete took out his rifle and looked around carefully, telling Nick to look around behind them. This was when Nick decided that this was officially the most boring Saturday he had ever experienced in his life.

"What if all the animals are still hibernating?" Nick inquired. Deep down, he was hoping that his uncle would just give up and they could go home.

"Not in April," Pete responded, not taking his eyes away from any oncoming animals. "Don't be so pessimistic, Nick."

"It's still cold," Nick muttered under his breath, huffing and crossing his arms again.

Nearly four hours went by with no such luck. Nick's feet were killing him from so much walking, and he vowed to never do this again if they didn't get any game. It was almost noon when the "highlight" of the day finally happened.

By now, they had made it to a stream, at the edge of a ridgeline mountain, with some large boulders to hide behind. Both Nick and Pete crouched down, Pete scanning around until, finally, he noticed something on the other side of the stream. There was a thirteen-point buck, a rather large one, drinking from the fresh water. The man grinned in satisfaction; this was a glorious find. He turned towards his nephew.

"Holy shit. Today's your lucky day, boy," Pete announced with a large grin. "I'm gonna let you put what I've taught you to the test. I'll need you to shoot that deer, and if you do, we can go right on home. How does that sound?"

_Fucking wonderful!_ Nick thought, delighted at the thought of going home soon. He nodded vigorously.

"Now, make sure you aim carefully for the neck," Pete spoke quietly. "It'll damage the spinal cord and die, we can't have it alive and bleedin' and going to spook away the other deer. Line it up like I taught you."

Nick obliged, lining the rifle up carefully, then...something in him just _stopped._ Those innocent thoughts began to rack through his brain. What if the deer had a family? Wouldn't they be sad? Animals had feelings, too. Nick's hands felt frozen; he couldn't shoot that buck to save his - or anyone's - life. He _hated_ to disappoint Pete, but shooting that buck would be too upsetting.

"I can't do it," Nick concluded. "I can't shoot it, Uncle Pete. Please don't make me shoot it!" He looked up at his uncle with large, pleading blue eyes.

"Nick, come on now, all you have to make is one clear shot," Pete tried to reason. "You'd make your mom real proud."

"I know, but...I just can't!" Nick whined. "I don't want to hurt it. Please!"

Pete sighed to himself; there was no way his nephew would learn if he didn't shoot the buck, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to him whine and complain about it. He decided that if Nick wasn't going to shoot it, he would do it himself.

"Alright, fine," Pete gave in. "Give it here."

He reached over and tried to take the rifle from Nick's hands, but Nick's hands and arms were still frozen as he thought about all of the possibilities of the deer. Just when Pete almost had it, Nick accidentally pulled the trigger, nearly hitting Pete in the gut. The boy jumped out of his skin and turned to his uncle. The bullet hadn't gotten him, luckily, but it had ripped part of his right sleeve. Pete turned, and the buck was running away, obviously alarmed by the gunshot.

"Goddamn it," Pete muttered to himself.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Pete! I'm sorry!" Nick cried, genuine fear in his eyes. "I didn't mean to!" he begged.

Pete didn't acknowledge the apology, and stood up slowly. "Let's go home," he deadpanned. "Come on, boy."

Nick rose from his spot as well and followed Pete back to the truck, his head hanging low and his heels dragging the entire way. So much for making Helen proud. The ride home was silent, and even Pete wished that the radio was working. Neither male felt like talking.

Nick was sure that the ride home was longer than the ride to the woods. At one point Pete said something to him, but he didn't listen. The eleven-year-old looked out the window, the world able to see the scowl on his face. Pete shook his head, reminded of his sister's temper at that age.

The moment they arrived home, Nick bolted back upstairs to his room without greeting his mother. Helen stood up from the couch, where she had been reading, and walked over to Pete.

"What happened?" she asked worriedly.

Pete grumbled. "We came across this beautiful thirteen-point buck. I made the mistake of lettin' Nick try to shoot, and he just up and starts complaining. Boy nearly gut-shot me when I tried to take the rifle out of his hands."

"Jesus..." Helen muttered. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I better go check on Nick-" Helen began, but Pete gently grabbed her arm and shook his head.

"Leave him alone for now," Pete advised. "He'll come out when he's ready. Give him time, Helen."

The younger woman squeezed her eyes shut. She had that familiar unhappy look on her face, but Pete didn't bother to acknowledge it. After a silent minute, Pete decided to head on home before his brother-in-law made it back. He would get that buck, somehow and some way.

Upstairs, Nick lay face-down on his bed, feeling genuinely upset about the ordeal of today. He would make it up to his uncle somehow, but he was too upset to even call Luke at the moment. He buried his face in his pillow, as if that would hide him away from the world, and vowed never to use a gun again.

Little did he know, however...

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><p><strong>So that was my little interpretation on what could have happened on the day Pete and Nick saw that thirteen-point buck. I didn't add when Pete shot it because it didn't happen until later that season, according to him. So I hoped you enjoyed and hopefully I'll have another story out soon, so for now, please be sure to leave a review and if you want, please vote on my poll located on my profile. :)<strong>


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